Peter Dow
My mouth felt dry as I followed my mother into the doctor’S privateoffice and sank into a padded chair next to hers．This doctor didn’t earlya stethoscope．He had a room full of gadgets and gizmos to analyze thelearning abilities of failing students．That day he had analyzed me．
He shuffled papers and jabbed his wire frame glasses with a forefin—ger．“I’m sorry to tell you this，Mrs．Dow，but Peter has dyslexia．A fair—ly severe case．”
I SWallowed and tried to breathe．The doctor went on．“He’U neverread above the fourth—grade level．Since he won’t be able to completehigh school requirements．I suggest you enroll him in a trade schoolwhere he can 1earn to work with his hands．”
I didn’t want to go to gade sch001．1 wanted to be a preacher，likemy dad．My eyes filled with tears，but I forced them back．A twelve—year——old was too big to cry．Mom stood up，SO I jumped to my feet，too．“Thank you，Doctor，”she said．“Come along，Pater．”We drove home without saying much．Ifelt numb．Dyslexia？I’d never heard the word until last week．Sure，1 was always the slowest kid in my class．During recess I had a special hid—ing place behind a shrub．There 1 would cry because I couldn’t do mylessmno matter how hard I tried．
Of course，I never told my morn about that part of sch001．1 was too ashamed．I didn’t want to worry her，either．She had enough 011 her mind teaching school full—time and taking care of Dad，my two brothers，my sister and me．
Mom and I arrived home before the rest of the family．I was glad．I wanted some time abode．With my chin almost touching my chest，I pulled off my coat and hung it in the closet．When I turned around my mother was standing right in front of me．She didn’t say anything．She just stood there looking into my eyes with tears running down her cheeks．Seeing her cry was too much for me．Before I knew what was happening．I was in her arlTis bawling like a big baby A few minutes lat-er，she led me into the living room to the couch．
“Sit down．honey．I want to talk to you．”
I rubbed my eyes with my sleeve and waited for plucking at the crease in my trousers．
“You heard what the doctor said about your not finishing sch001．I don’t believe him．”
I stopped sniffling and looked at her。Her mild blue eyes smiled into mine．Behind them lay an iron will．“We’ll have to work very hard，you and I，but Ink we can do it．Now that I know what the problem is．we call tD，to overcome it，I’m going to hire a tutor who knows about dys—lexia．I’11 work with you myself evenings and weekends．”Her eyebrows drew down as she peered at me．“Are you willing to work，Peter？Do you want tolly？”
A ray of hope shone through the hazy future．“Yes．Morn．”The next six years were an endurance run for both of US．I studiedwith a tutor twice a week until I could haltingly read my lessons．Eachnight my mom and I sat at my little desk and rehearsed that day’sschoolwork for at feast tWO hours，sometimes until midnight．We drilledfor tests until my head pounded and the print blurred before my eyes·Atleast twice a week，1 wanted to quit．I had the strength of a kitten，but my mom’s courage never wavered．She’d rise early to pray over my school day．A thousand times I heard her say，“Lord，open Peter’S mind today．Help him remember thethings we studied．”
Her vision reached beyond the three R’S．Twice 1 won at statewide speech competitions．I participated in school programs and earned a li—cense to work as an announcer on a local radio station．
Then my mother developed chronic migraines during my senior vear．She blamed the headaches on stress．Some days the intense pain kept her in bed．Still she’d come to my room in the evening，wearing her robe．an ice pack in her hand I to study with me．
We laughed and cried when I passed my senior finals．Two days be—fore graduation I talked to my mother and father about Bible College．1 wanted to go，but 1 was afraid．
Morn said，“Apply at the Bible Institute in our town．You Can live at home，and I’11 help you．”
